


Legolas/Bard ficlet

by gnimaerd



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: M/M, and their pretty elf boyfriends, grumpy queer single dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnimaerd/pseuds/gnimaerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <em>“If I were in the business of taking orders from elves,” Bard intones, dryly, “I’ve a feeling the events of the last few hours would have gone down a might differently.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Legolas/Bard ficlet

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Как нормальный человек (фик по пейрингу Леголас/Бард)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165830) by [Angulema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angulema/pseuds/Angulema)



> I haven't written m/m slash in like nine years what is going onnnn. (Stupid inconvenient persistent feels about Bard that's what).

 

“Do your people never sleep?” Bard groans from under the arm he has thrown across his face.

Legolas glances back at the bed, then shrugs, returning his attention to the window. “It’s a full moon.”

“That doesn’t – quite – answer my question.”

Legolas apparently feels no need to dignify that with an answer.

Bard considers going back to sleep (there is nothing stopping him, practically speaking), but something about the elf stood by the window instead of sleeping in the bed, or at least having the decency to slip away and go off home to his own bed, like any normal illicit lover would, irritates him. So he sits up, his bare feet finding the bare floorboards, and makes a show of drinking water from his flask with his back to Legolas.

It’s like ignoring a sodding cat.

Legolas is too busy worshipping the lunar circle or whatever it is elves do in the middle of the night to pay him any attention, apparently. Bard stands and pads over to the window.

“Aren’t full moons a fairly common occurrence?” He asks, folding his arms over his bare chest.

Legolas glances at him, as if having totally forgotten that they are in the same room. “Once a month, yes.”

“So, any particular reason you’re feeling for paying heed to this one?”

“I enjoy the time of night. It’s quiet. Usually.”

That’s a dig at him. Bard snorts, disgusted, and goes back to bed.

But he can’t sleep with the elf just – standing there. There’s something almost unholy about that sort of thing – Sigrid was in the habit of doing something similar when she was little, getting up and just standing by the bed and – fuck it all he doesn’t want to be thinking about his children right now.

_Fuck it._

When he starts getting dressed, Legolas finally does turn round properly.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” Bard is fumbling with his shirt buttons in the dark.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“So I’d noticed.”

“Laketown is miles from here.”

“Sooner I set off, sooner I’ll be back.”

“Bard,” Legolas moves, far too fluid and graceful for this hour, getting between him and the door, “you should go back to bed.”

“If I were in the business of taking orders from elves,” Bard intones, dryly, “I’ve a feeling the events of the last few hours would have gone down a might differently.”

He can’t tell, in the gloom, whether Legolas looks abashed or not. He’s a suspicion that that’s what the silence means, anyway.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, after he judges the silence to have lingered long enough. “So there’s no point. I should just – bugger off.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“Because you’re – _stood there_.”

Legolas looks faintly incredulous. Bard waves a hand, then rakes it back through his hair instead because that somehow feels like a more dignified gesture of despair.

“It’s _abnormal_. So you either lie down like a – like a – human being, or I’m off home. Okay. And you’re paying for the room.”

At this, Legolas lets out a breath that Bard realises a moment later is laughter – Legolas has turned his head away as if to shield that he’s doing anything so undignified as finding the situation amusing.

“You might simply have asked me to lie down, you know.”

The elf falls back onto the bed, climbing in amongst the sheets – Bard watches long, strong, sinewy limbs and the fall of silver hair against a pale neck and oh _fuck_.

He clears his abruptly dry throat. “I might as well go home anyway.”

“Why?”

“I’m up now, aren’t I?”

“Your shirt’s done up the wrong way.”

Bard squints at himself in the dark – in retrospect the elf is probably right. Equally, though, he’s not sure he cares, because Legolas has clambered out of the sheets with those long sinewey limbs and all, and is now sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed before him, and proceeds to pluck open his buttons one by one and do them up again in the right order.

“Better,” he pronounces, after he has finished, “unless, that is, you feel like taking the shirt off entirely, and getting into bed. Like a normal human being.”

Bard resists the urge to roll his eyes.  “You’re an arrogant sod.”

“And yet you do so seem to enjoy my company.”

Bard does not bother with the buttons, but pulls his shirt off over his head entirely, and gets back into bed.

 


End file.
